


Dawn

by Ser_Renity



Series: Post-Canon [10]
Category: Bleach
Genre: A cute little birthday present amirite, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV Third Person, just fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Renity/pseuds/Ser_Renity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>follow for more soft grimmjow (tm)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> follow for more soft grimmjow (tm)

* * *

 

 

It was by far the worst struggle of his life; Ichigo had had no idea it could get this bad. Of course his training had prepared him for all eventualities and possible outcomes of strenuous battles, but how could he have known that this would happen?

  
And even if it had been predictable maybe the best preparation could not have saved him.

  
Ichigo groaned and tried not to move too much as if even the tiniest twitch could exhaust all his reserves and leave him drained and immobilized.

  
“What did I do to deserve this?” he muttered and pressed an aching hand against his face.

  
It seemed like a punishment. Perhaps the universe itself decided he had made one sarcastic comment too many. That one time with Ishida had maybe been a little too harsh, but Ichigo was convinced it was not his fault that the Quincy could not take a joke.

Especially when it was about something as petty as the quality of his sewing. It was entirely unwarranted to vault over a table and attempt to strangle the person who had dared to say something nasty about his arts and crafts.

  
Surely his good deeds were enough to balance that out? Ichigo sighed and tried to forget about his situation. Make the best of it, he thought, see the positive aspects and embrace them.

  
“There are none,” he moaned and splayed his fingers on his chest, “This is the worst.”

  
He reached out and grabbed his phone. The digits on the screen told him it was way too late to try and get a good night’s sleep; but what else was there to do? Wallowing in his misery would do him no good either.

  
Ichigo whined and dropped his arm onto the mattress. It was futile. Everything was. Nothing could save him now.

  
“Why does it have to be so hot?” he muttered and closed his eyes as if the dark of his mental images could cool him down.

  
The heat wave had hit a few days ago but only now was it taking full effect on their small town; every day it got a little more humid, a little hotter until it felt like the air set everyone’s lungs on fire.

  
Ichigo was not used to the heat; but he had endured it stoically by simply drinking a lot and spending most time in the shade or the quiet of his room.

  
Today had been different; today he was forced to go out with his sisters and now everything that ever mattered was forgotten in a wake of warmth.

  
The faint smell of sunscreen and sweaty skin reminded him of a day spent at the beach. Water, sweet, cooling water. It would have been the best thing right now. Instead what he had were thick blankets that clung to his legs.

It was the age-old question that kept him awake- sleep exposed to the empty air or slip under the covers despite the heat? There was no way to win in this scenario. Even fighting against Yhwach he had had better chances of emerging victorious.

  
Ichigo groaned again.

  
His thighs stuck together underneath the covers and he spread his legs a little, tried to avoid skin contact at all costs. Everything about him felt sticky and uncomfortable. He desperately wanted another shower, but his family would not be too amused if he woke them up for something like this in the middle of the night.

  
“Goddamnit,” Ichigo mumbled and rolled onto his stomach with a groan. He felt disgusting, his damp skin rubbing against the fabric and clinging to him like a second skin. Then there was the blanket and the heat it radiated. Just a bit too much and still not enough to calm his nausea. If he had not been lying down he would have collapsed now.

  
His eyes kept drooping but his body just couldn’t sink into that sweet nothingness.. Sleeping meant not being aware of the heat; it stopped him from going mad whenever the breeze from his open window wasn’t quite strong enough to reach him. It was all the relief he got and even when he felt the faint traces of air on his skin it didn’t suffice to solve this predicament.

  
Ichigo pressed his face against the mattress and huffed out an exhausted breath. His fingers curled in the sheets, than his shirt, than the damp hair at the back of his neck.

  
Just a little more, a little closer to sleep-

  
A soft noise at his side caught his attention.

  
There was a shadow outside, close to the curtains and then on top of his windowsill.

  
“No,” Ichigo groaned, “Just no.”

  
“I didn’t even say anything yet.”

  
Grimmjow’s deep, rumbling voice sounded amused. His fingers raked across the light surface of the windowsill. They should have left deep ridges and splintered the paint, but his grip was careful and his movement controlled.

  
Ichigo watched him for a while, the familiar silhouette of the otherworldly monster a stark contrast against the murky light of what might be the dawn soon.

  
Grimmjow was not a rare visitor these days, he showed up at the clinic’s figurative doorstep with increasing frequency. He had a tendency to be late and demanded to be listened to with a certainty unknown to most others. Some days seeing him was still strange; some days his absence mattered.

  
“I know why you’re here,” Ichigo muttered and buried his face in his hands, one palm flattened on top of the other.

  
“Do you, now,” Grimmjow purred; his voice dropped to a low tone and Ichigo was reminded of those large wild cats locked in cages of their own choosing. Hueco Mundo was his cage, then, or maybe it was the small room on the second floor of a human boy’s home.

  
“You want to fight,” Ichigo said and sighed.

  
A pleased hum at his side told him he had guessed correctly.

  
“Fighting means moving,” he continued and licked his lips, “If I move I will sweat even more and then I will die, slowly. I’ll just dissolve.”

  
Silence.

  
“Will you actually do that?” Grimmjow asked.

  
His voice was like a spark, the chime of a bell. It was the tone he used when he was curious or playful, just an alien presence. With time, Ichigo mused, it had become more of a pleasant irritation.

  
“I’m not up for a fight today,” he said, “Sorry.”

  
With that he was ready to return to his almost-slumber, the close-to-vegetative-state that he had managed to get to once or twice tonight. Sleep was overrated, he pondered, slipping in and out of consciousness was preferable. His mantra did not convince his aching body, though, not with the sweat pooling beneath him and his forehead burning up.

  
Ichigo produced a pitiful noise and closed his eyes, watched the many colored swirls at the back of his eyelids.

  
“You okay?” Grimmjow asked and sounded more baffled than concerned, “You don’t look too hot.”

  
“Oh I’m freaking hot all right,” Ichigo replied muffled by his pillow.

  
Then he paused and slowly raised his head, scrutinizing his guest where he sat motionless, framed by the softly billowing curtains.

  
“You aren’t affected at all?”

  
“Nah,” Grimmjow said and shrugged listlessly, “Perks of being a Hollow, I guess. Temperatures don’t mean shit to me.”

  
Ichigo stared at the tiny patterns within the fabric of his bed sheets, the small grids that reminded him of a crosshair when he was scared. If he had run his fingers across its surface he could have felt the bumps and uneven spots, could have felt the artificial softness. His finger did not move from where they rested next to his head.

  
Grimmjow still hadn’t left and Ichigo sighed and gave in. He rolled onto his back again, determined to send the Hollow away and then mope a bit longer.

  
Instead he let out a very surprised noise of disapproval as the heavy weight of another body dropped on top of him.

  
“Holy shit,” Ichigo gasped, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  
Grimmjow pressed his face into the crook of his shinigami’s neck; he smirked against the skin and wiggled his arms underneath the other’s back.

  
“Grimmjow, get the fuck off of me,” Ichigo said and tried to push the Hollow away by the shoulders.

  
If it had been hot before it was scorching now; it felt like hell, actual demonic hell with Satan laughing at him from a pit of lava. Ichigo’s disgruntled noises were ignored though, maybe because his arms were wrapped around Grimmjow already. It was a reflex, nothing deliberate.

  
“One of those days, huh?” Ichigo asked and rolled his eyes even as he could feel his head spin with the added warmth.

  
Grimmjow chuckled, completely unfazed by the sorry state of his supposed prey. This was not uncommon either; him sneaking in to find comfort. It might even be his favorite thing in the world; second only to the rush of a fair battle with no fear of death.

  
Ichigo didn’t mind it usually, he felt the same way even if that was a truth he would never reveal if he could help it. They didn’t have to exchange important words to know they were real and so was what they had.

  
“This is disgusting,” Ichigo said and tried to move out of the embrace again, “Go sleep somewhere else, you big idiot.”

  
Grimmjow didn’t listen and snuggled closer, the smug grin on his face unwavering and vibrant. Ichigo could feel it in the way his body was shaken with bouts of laughter, in the small touches of the bone mask to his skin. After a while he couldn’t help but laugh along. It was such a ridiculous situation, such a strangely endearing mess that he found himself giggling like a child in the middle of the night.

  
“You sure about that?” Grimmjow asked and his breath was hot and close and tingled to feel on bare skin, “That you want me gone?”

  
“If you think I’ll tell you you are too hot you can fuck right off,” Ichigo answered without a hitch.

  
“You might change your mind about that in a second.”

  
“What do you mean?” he asked and looked up past the tufts of soft blue hair that were pressed against his cheek.

  
Grimmjow didn’t answer, just took a deep breath.

  
At first nothing happened and Ichigo frowned, expecting some sort of stupid joke, something that involved being forced to fight to enter his own room or anything similar.

  
Instead he suddenly felt a creeping cold sensation spread over his skin. After those hours of burning heat it was the single most desirable thing in Ichigo’s life, the best possible outcome. It was so soothing, in fact, that he took a while to question where it came from.

  
Grimmjow looked down at him out of half-lidded eyes, still smirking, still smug. But there was also that hint of fondness that Ichigo knew would be reflected on his own face. What a joke, what fools they were.

  
“You can do that?” he asked instead and clutched the beautifully cold body close as though it were a block of ice.

  
“Can pull the reiatsu out of the outer layers of my skin,” Grimmjow mumbled and grinned wryly, “Just had to cool down if I was too hot for you before.”

  
Ichigo huffed out a laugh and pushed his Espada’s shoulder in a mock attempt to remove him. Even as a joke it felt wrong to let go of the blessed cold.

  
But he took in the flutter of Grimmjow’s eyelids and the way his shoulders slumped and Ichigo’s smile softened. In the middle of the night it didn’t feel too embarrassing to show affection a little more openly.

  
“It drains your powers, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  
Grimmjow shrugged and lowered his head down onto Ichigo’s chest.

  
“You’re exhausted, you idiot.”

  
“Nah, ‘m not,” the Hollow muttered and his eyes fell shut, “Of course ‘m fine, Kurosaki.”

  
It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, the cold still radiating off of him.

  
Ichigo lay in the twilight hours before dawn and clung to the undead creature that had somehow chosen him as its favorite.

  
“You idiot,” Ichigo repeated another time, another day.

  
Then he slept, the heat all but forgotten.

 

* * *

 


End file.
